When I finish up with Victoria and come downstairs, Adam is cooking spaghetti in the kitchen and talking on his cell phone. He’s swirling the spaghetti around in a pot of boiling water as he laughs at something the person on the other line says to him.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “We’ll be fine.” He pauses to listen. “Yeah, just stay away from the electrical outlets. If the power goes out, it’ll probably come back by the morning.”
After a few more exchanges, he hangs up the phone and flashes me an apologetic smile. “That was my mom,” he says. “She lives on the island too, and she’s freaking out about the storm. I always call to check on her when a big one is coming.”
“That’s so sweet.”
He grins. “Well, I’m a sweet guy.”
I can’t argue with that assessment. Given how attentive Adam is to a wife who can’t give him anything in return anymore, I’d expect he’d be equally attentive to his elderly parents. It worries me though that he spends so much time and effort taking care of other people. Adam seems like he’s on a fast track to burn out.
I tend to the spaghetti while Adam goes upstairs to get Victoria into bed. By the time he comes back down the stairs, I’ve got two heaping plates of spaghetti and tomato sauce on the counter with two glasses of water. Just as he reaches for one of the plates, the lights flicker above.
And then they go out completely.
“Whoa,” I say. The room lights briefly from a flash of lightning, and thunder crashes a moment later. With the lights out, I can barely see the plate of food. “It’s dark in here.”
“I put candles all around the room. I just need to find a lighter.” Adam goes to the kitchen counter and fumbles around in a drawer. A moment later, I see a flash of fire. “I’ll go light them.”
He lights the candles one by one until the room is bright enough for me to at least see my spaghetti and make out the curves of Adam’s handsome face. We bring our food over to the sofa like we always do, but
we won’t be able to watch television this time like usual. We’ll have no choice but to… talk.
“Wine?” he asks me as he heads back to the kitchen.
A voice in the back of my head is telling me it’s not a brilliant idea to have a glass of wine with my incredibly sexy boss when we’re trapped together in his house and the lights are out. But I haven’t had a drink since my first night here, and this storm is making me anxious. “Sure,” I say.
He returns with two glasses of white wine. He places them both on the coffee table with our food, then he picks up his plate. “Glad I went for a run this morning,” he says. “The ground will be a mess tomorrow.”
“There will probably be leaf-paste everywhere,” I comment. “Leaf paste?”
“You know, that mix of dirty leaves and water that becomes kind of like a paste?”
He laughs. “Oh right. Exactly.”
I take a sip of the white wine. I’m sure it’s more expensive than the usual stuff I get for ten bucks a bottle, but it tastes the same to me. “I admire your discipline though. How long have you been running?”
“Honestly? Only since Victoria came home.”
“Really?” Most men wouldn’t see their wives getting injured as a motivation to get in better shape. “Why?”
“Well…” He runs the tip of his finger along the rim of the glass. “The thing is, lately I’ve had a lot of… pent up energy… if you know what I mean…”
I suck in a breath. Adam has lowered his eyes, and I have a feeling if the lights were on, his cheeks would be pink. “Oh…”
“That sounds bad.” He glances at the stairwell. “I don’t mean it like that. What happened to Victoria was horrible, and I want to take care of her for the rest of her life. I made a vow to do that, and I’m going to keep it. But… sometimes it’s…”
“No, I understand.”
He drops his head back against the sofa. “I want to go the distance. For Victoria. But… it’s going to involve a lot of long runs and cold showers.” He takes a deep breath. “And who knows? Maybe she’ll get better…”
Except he told me on the first day here that all the doctors told him she wouldn’t. Victoria will never get better. She will be like this for the rest of
her life.
The thunder crashes again and I shiver. Adam frowns at me. “Are you cold, Sylvia?”
“I… a little.” I hadn’t realized it before, but it’s suddenly freezing in here. “Is the heat on?”
He shakes his head. “I think it went out. Listen, I’ll get the fireplace going, but you might want to get another sweater.”
I tug at the hoodie I’m wearing over my T-shirt. “I don’t know if I have anything… warm enough…”
He hesitates. “Why don’t you check Victoria’s closet? Might as well. There’s so much clothing in there and it shouldn’t go to waste. I think you’re about the same size as she is.”
There’s something about scavenging around in Victoria’s closet for something to wear while hanging around with her husband that feels wrong. “That’s okay.”
“Are you sure? It’s going to get pretty cold in here soon, even with the fire.”
I shiver again. It’s uncomfortably cold right now. I’m sure the fire will help, but I can’t even focus on eating my food. Maybe I should get over myself and borrow a sweater from Victoria. It’s not like she’d even know about it.
Finally, I decide to just do it. While Adam fiddles with the fireplace, I grab a flashlight from the kitchen and mount the stairs. In the dark, they seem even more steep and scary. I cling to the banister, taking them slowly. I don’t want to fall like Victoria did.
Victoria’s giant, walk-in closet seems even more gigantic by flashlight. How does one woman have so much clothing? She’s so lucky. Or at least, she was.
I sift through expensive cashmere sweaters but reject each one. Finally, I pick out a gray woolen sweater that’s mildly ugly but looks warm. It looks like something she’s had for a long time, before she had a rich husband to fund her wardrobe. I’m not trying to look sexy today—this is perfect.
Small orange flames are coming out of the fireplace when I get back downstairs, but the room is just as cold. In addition to getting the fire going, Adam has brought a couple of quilts out to the couch, so I waste no time in
wrapping one of them around me. He smirks when he sees me bundling myself up.
“Better?” he says. He sits down next to me and drapes the other quilt over his legs.
“A little.” I take another sip of wine. The alcohol might warm me up. “Still kind of cold though.”
“Do you want another blanket?” He pulls the one he’s got on his legs off him and holds it out to me. It reminds me of how he offered me his scarf that first day at the train station.
I shake my head. “No. My body is warm enough but my face is cold.” “Your face is cold?”
“Yeah. Like my nose and my cheeks. And my eyeballs.” He laughs. “Your eyeballs?”
“Don’t laugh. My eyes are really cold.”
“I just… I’m not sure how to help you with that.”
I let out a breath. If it weren’t so dark in here, I suspect I’d be able to see the puff of air. “You don’t have to help me. You don’t always have to be the hero, you know.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “The hero?”
“Well…” I pick at a loose thread on the quilt. “You just… you do a lot. For Victoria. For your parents. It’s nice of you, but… it’s just a lot for any one person.”
“Yeah…” Adam’s features flicker in the dim light of the room. “I’m not going to lie. It’s been… hard.”
Without entirely meaning to, I reach out and touch his arm. “I know it has.”
He furrows his brow. “I just wish…”
The thunder cracks again and I pull the blankets tighter around me. Our food is completely forgotten on the coffee table—it’s probably ice cold by now anyway. I can’t help but notice Adam and I are sitting very close together on the couch. I know I should move, but I don’t want to pull away from his body heat. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when it’s cold out? Cuddle together for body heat?
Except we might be a little too close. “Sylvia,” he whispers.
I shut my eyes. If I can’t see how attractive he is, I won’t be as tempted. But this situation is impossible—between the dim lighting, the cracks of lightning and thunder, and the allure of his body heat, it’s like someone set it up to guarantee we’d do something we shouldn’t. I know all those months of loneliness are wearing on him.
I should pull away. I know I should. But I haven’t kissed a guy since Freddy. And that was a very long time ago. Both of us have been alone for so long.
Pull away, Sylvie!
Neither of us is saying anything. We’re just sitting on a sofa, looking at each other, cuddling under the blanket for warmth. My heart won’t stop pounding in my chest. My lips are a foot away from his. It would be so easy.
Crash!
Both of our heads simultaneously swivel in the direction of the staircase. The noise came from upstairs. In the direction of Victoria’s room. Except she can’t be making noise. She’s in bed, sound asleep. But then again, she’s the only other person in this house.
Adam leaps off the couch like it was on fire. “I’ll go see what that was.”
I jump up too, allowing the blankets to fall off my body. “You can finish eating. I’ll go.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind either.” When he looks doubtful, I add, “It’s my job, right?”
He scratches at the stubble on his face. “Okay. Give me a yell if you need any help.”
As soon as I’m heading up the creaky stairs again to the second floor, I regret my generous offer. Especially when I realize at the top of the steps that I forgot the flashlight downstairs. The first floor was well lit with all the candles and the fireplace, but the second floor is black as night. I blink a few times, trying to adjust my eyes, but it helps only minimally.
I debate going back downstairs to get the flashlight, but I’m scared to descend the stairs without a flashlight in hand. I know there’s one in the top drawer of the dresser inside Victoria’s room. So if I can find the room, I can use that flashlight. But finding a room is a challenging task. I keep my hand
along the wall, feeling the bumps and cracks in the plaster. Victoria’s room is the last one on the right. I feel the first door, second, then the third— Victoria’s room. My fingers fumble for a doorknob, and I throw the door open.
It’s pitch black inside Victoria’s room. The only sound is the rain pounding against her window. “Victoria?” I whisper.
No answer. She must be asleep. Except what was that noise?
I feel around until I locate the dresser. I slide the first drawer open and fumble around with papers and identifiable objects. I finally feel a flash of relief when my fingers close around a cylindrical object. I locate the switch with my thumb and flick it on.
The room fills with the beam from the flashlight. I have to blink again, adjusting my eyes to the light. I turn the light across the room, shining it in the direction of Victoria’s bed, so I can make sure she’s all right and sound asleep.
But when I shine the light on Victoria, I realize she’s not asleep at all.
Her eyes are open, and she’s staring at me with her one good eye.
It’s the last thing I expected to see. My heart leaps into my chest. She was passed out only a couple of hours ago. Now she’s wide awake.
“Victoria,” I say. “You… you startled me. I thought you were asleep.” She just blinks.
“Is everything okay?” I ask her. “I heard a crash.”
I look down at the floor, to see what might have made the noise. I see now that the glass of water that had been on Victoria’s night table when I went downstairs is now on the ground. Water has spilled all over the floor by her bed. Clearly, that’s what made the noise. And it must have awakened Victoria from her sleep.
Of course, if Victoria was asleep when the glass fell, what made it fall? Glasses don’t suddenly roll off the table. Did she wake up and reach for it? I’ve never seen her do anything like that.
“I’ll get that cleaned up,” I tell her.
Armed with my flashlight, I make my way over to the bathroom to grab some tissues to get it all cleaned up. It’s not much water, and it won’t take long. When I come back, Victoria still has her eyes open and she’s
watching me. I feel her eyes on my back as I wipe down the floor. Thankfully, the glass was made of plastic and didn’t break.
“Mmmmm,” Victoria says.
I lift my eyes from the ground, where I’m wiping up the last of the water. “What?”
Victoria’s lips work like she’s trying to say something. I think M words are harder for her. She tries again, concentrating all her effort: “Mmmmmine.”
Mine?
I look down at where her gaze is directed. My sweater. Or, I should say, her sweater. I’m wearing her sweater. And she noticed.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly. “I should have asked, but Adam said it was okay. The heat is out and I was so cold.” I pull it off, even though it’s almost unbearably cold without the sweater. “I won’t wear it anymore. I’m sorry.”
Victoria’s expression does not change. “Mine,” she says again. The word is much clearer this time.
I stuff the sweater into her drawer. You couldn’t pay me a million bucks to wear the sweater at this point. I’ll just wrap myself in blankets and I’ll be fine. I look back at Victoria, hoping to see that strange, intense look has disappeared from her face. It hasn’t.
“Mine,” she says.
My heart is pounding. She’s stuck on this. But what can I do? I returned the stupid sweater. What more does she want from me?
“If you’re all right, I’m going to go now,” I back away, towards her door. “I’ll be back to check on you in the morning.”
It’s only after I leave the room that I realize the thing Victoria was telling me was hers might not have been the sweater. So instead of going back downstairs to tempt fate with Adam, I go to my bedroom and read by flashlight until I pass out.
